Tracked by Trouble (Bad Boys Need Love, Too #3) Read online

  “This shy of a train wreck,” Zed said, pinching his thumb and index finger together. “Beck told me I keep spacing. Blanking out. I did it again at the Marine Mammal Center. I swear I saw someone watching me with binocs from the viewing station. My sis told me it took her five minutes to get my attention. I wasn’t aware of any of it. Fucking hell.”

  “Where’s your bro?”

  “Don’t know, don’t care.”

  “You might start caring,” Jace said. He lifted his mug and took a swig. “If my brother was on the hunt, I’d want to be aware of the prick’s every move. I’d want to know his whereabouts.”

  “Oh, I’m sure I’ll get an invite to a welcome home party or something from my mom the second he arrives.” Zed scoffed, lifting his beer to his lips. He took a healthy swallow and put the mug down with a thunk. “I want to ask your opinion on something.”

  “Shoot.”

  “I’m thinking of heading down to San Diego…to the crime scene.” Zed fidgeted in his chair.

  “Is that a good idea? We’ve got to amp up your training, big time.”

  “I made a deal with Beck to go see this fancy ass psychologist about the blackouts. But I can’t do it. Mitch suggested I retrace my steps. You know, see if it jogs anything loose.”

  “Mitch is no therapist.”

  “I know that, he knows that. I begged him for a suggestion other than heading to shrink-land.”

  Jace rubbed his jaw. “I don’t know, man. Race is coming right up. Don’t you have enough to worry about?”

  “Yeah, but what if I blackout on the run? On the bike? While driving? Or loving on Beck, huh?” He repeated what Mitch said, trying to jack up his enthusiasm for the trip.

  “Yeah, I hear you.” Jace’s hand moved to the back of his neck. “I just think it’s a really bad idea.”

  “Yeah, but it’s my bad idea, so it doesn’t affect you.”

  “Fuck, Zed.” Jace drained his beer and lifted his glass, signaling the waitress. “That’s bullshit and you know it.”

  “Look, I’ll only be gone a couple days. I’ll workout down there. I’ll be fine. And I might return without a hole in my head…” He blanched. “A memory hole.” Zed glanced at this phone checking the time. Beck should be here soon.

  “So, besides worrying about your dipshit brother, and your memory—not that it’s not important—what else is up for you about the race?”

  “Shit. Everything’s up. I don’t want to be one of those DNF racers, for starts. If that’s the case, I may as well not even start.” He drained his glass. “Another good reason to head down to Cali.”

  “Quit lobbying for your cause. It’s your sanity, not mine. And if for some reason, you end up with a Did Not Finish next to your name, well, there’s always next time. At least you tried.”

  “You sound like my mother.”

  “Fuck that. As for San Diego, if you feel it’s important, do it.”

  Zed let out a breath. “Thank you. I do and I am. Boss dog already approved it.”

  “What’s with all the ‘thinking about it’ shit then?” Jace glared at him.

  “I’m not on the plane, yet, am I?” Zed countered. He stared at this phone, twirling it idly.

  The waitress came over with Jace’s beer, asked Zed if he’d like another. He nodded and off she went.

  “Honestly, I don’t want to go. It’s a last ditch effort before therapy.”

  “Now the truth emerges.”

  “You should talk.”

  “I know, I’ve done my share of cover ups. Can’t afford to do that now. I’ve got a family to raise.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Now, tell me more about any thoughts you have about the race.”

  “What, like the thought that I’ll let Rickie down or look like a fool in front of Beck? What good is that going to do?”

  “Just get ‘em out. What else?”

  “Shit. Are you playing therapist, Savage?”

  “Nope, we need to talk about this. The better prepared you are mentally and physically, the better you’ll do.” He took a swig and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

  “Let’s see, I’m worried I’ll get a flat, I’ll blackout, I won’t finish, I didn’t train hard enough, I’ll blackout…oh, wait, I already said that one.” Zed smirked as he ticked his fears off on his fingers. “And I’ll look so stupid, I’ll fall or something…and Beck will leave me.”

  Jace frowned and fingered the edge of his paper napkin. “Normal shit,” he said.

  “How would you know?”

  “Fuck, Zed, I’ve been talking to people, what do you think? I ask for advice, feedback, whatever, every time I go to the gym.”

  “You do?”

  “Hell, yeah. I’m invested in the outcome, I want you to make your nephew proud. Kids are important.”

  Zed snickered and shook his head. He glanced at this phone again. “I wonder what’s keeping Beck? She said she’d be here.”

  “She probably got tied up at work. Any other fears we need to be concerned with?”

  “What if I have to take a dump?”

  Jace laughed. “I hope you’re more regular than that.”

  “You asked.”

  “And that’s what you came up with?”

  “It’s crossed my mind, yeah. I don’t dwell on it or anything.” His eyes landed on his phone. “Maybe I’ll give her a call.”

  “Give it a rest. You don’t want her to feel smothered.”

  “Oh my God, you’re an expert in relationships now?” Zed laughed.

  “Hey, I’ve learned a lot in a short time.”

  “Okay, okay, I’ll let it rest, coach. So, next week we increase the length of the multiples, right?”

  “Roger that. We’ll alternate between bike/swim, run/swim and run/bike. I thought of doing some training in the Sound. You cool with that?”

  “Yeah. What’s the temp lately?”

  “I checked with the scuba dive shop and got reports of 53-54 degrees.”

  “That’s brisk.”

  “Yeah, but you’re a tough guy.”

  Zed and Jace kept up their friendly banter until Jace said, “I’ve got to get home. Zoé’s making meatloaf.”

  “I thought she didn’t eat beef.”

  “She doesn’t. She’s making it with ground turkey. It’s a concession on her part to feed her meat eating, muscle building man.” He flexed his massive biceps.

  “Show off.” Zed flexed his smaller one.

  “Nah. You’re leaner than me. Always have been. You’ve got the body of a runner. Don’t worry about it.”

  “Not worried.” Zed tossed a few bills on the table and got up.

  Jace did the same.

  The two men walked out to the parking lot. “Well, catch you later, man. I’ll see you tomorrow. When are you planning to head south?”

  “Chuck’s checking on airfare. I’ll know tomorrow.”

  Jace lifted his chin, gave Zed a quick one-armed hug and left.

  Zed looked right and left, up the street and down, wondering what happened to Beck. He tapped her number into his phone and held it up to his ear.

  “What?” a slurred voice said.

  “Beck?”

  “Could be.”

  “Where are you? I thought you were going to stop by the bar?”

  “Nuh uh. Something came over me. I think it was Jack.”

  Pricks of alarm raced up and down his arms and back. “Jack? Who’s Jack?”

  “His last name’s Daniels. Get it? Jack Daniels?” She laughed.

  “Are you drunk?”

  “Very.”

  “What’s the occasion?”

  “No reason.”

  “Want some company?”

  “Not really.”

  Zed squinted and tried to figure out where her head was at. Admittedly, he didn’t know her that well, but this behavior didn’t seem like her. “What’s going on, Beck?”

  “Not a thing, Zed.”

  “A
re you home?”

  “Yep. I’m at my home.”

  “Uh, okay. Do you need some space? Is that what’s going on?”

  “Yes, that’s it. I need space. Lots and lots of space.”

  “Are you…what is this? Are you breaking up with me?” Zed felt a knife slide into his heart and twist back and forth.

  “That depends.”

  “On?” Zed’s heart pounded in his chest.

  “On whether you were ever going to tell me about San Francisco.”

  “What?” Is she talking about what I did there with Lawson? “Beck honey, what are you talking about? What about San Francisco?”

  “I promised your brother I’d tell you he didn’t tell me a thing.”

  “What? When did you talk to my brother?” Beads of sweat formed on his forehead. His pulse hammered in his temples.

  “This…this morning. He’s now a patient…” She struggled getting the word out. “He goes to the clinic.”

  “He does?” Shit, shit, shit. “What did he say? Wait. Tell me in person. I’m coming over.”

  “He wants to be my friend. He calls me Beck.” She spit the word into the phone. “Beck,” she slurred again. “I’m his little Beck.”

  “Don’t do anything stupid, Beck. I’m coming over. Right now. Fifteen minutes away.”

  “Why would I do something stupid?”

  “You wouldn’t, that’s right, honey.”

  “He calls me honey, too. Beck. Honey.”

  Shit. If the drive normally took fifteen or twenty, he vowed to make it in eight.

  Chapter 27

  Zed’s truck screeched into her driveway several minutes after he hung up.

  “Wow,” Beck thought, her mind a frizzled mess. She’d cracked the bottle of whiskey the minute she got home, downing her first shot before changing into her beloved red skull sweatshirt and faded jeans. Her meeting with Lawson had seriously messed with her trust muscle and mind, causing her to slip right into old habits of avoidance. “He’s fast.”

  She wasn’t sure what disturbed her more—Lawson, or the doubt bombs he’d launched. All day, she’d gone through outrage at the prick Lawson, anger and mistrust toward Zed, care and concern toward him, back to outrage. Lawson the sexual predator. Lawson the polite marine. Lawson the psycho killer. And Zed? Who is Zed, really? Who in the hell have I fallen in love with? Finally, at day’s end, she vowed to quash all the conflicting voices in her head in the easiest way she knew how.

  The doorbell rang and she stumbled toward it, falling against the wall along her way. She opened it with some effort. “You’re no help,” she said to her dog. “Get some opposable thumbs.”

  He woofed and wagged his tail at her.

  Pointing at Sidekick, she said to Zed, the minute his face became visible, “I picked him up. He doesn’t live with you. He lives with me.”

  “I see that. He’s your dog. I never claimed him. Step aside, please, so I can come in.” His face appeared blank, devoid of emotion. “Open up, Beck.”

  With exertion, she pushed open the screen as if it were made of lead, and stood out of the way as Zed barreled into the house. She pictured her burly cowboy image and saw him with guns blazing. She pointed her hands like guns and pretended to shoot them overhead, making cartoon shooty noises.

  “What the fuck, Beck?”

  “You tell me, cowboy. You’ve been a naughty boy, lying to the Beckster, your boo boo. She’s used to it, but not…not with…with you.” She scrunched up her face. Hard. It’s hard to make sense. Come on, you can do better. “Boys will do anything to get into her pants.”

  Zed’s mouth fell open and he stared at her, judgment or anger or disappointment—maybe all three—etched over his face.

  “What the fuck did you and Lawson used to do? He said you pretend to be his victim. It’s all a ruse. He said that. The ruse part. And the pretend part.” She waved her hand in the air, trying to clear the drink-soaked fur from her brain. “He said you used to tag team bitches. Take turns. I don’t do tag teams, b-b-buddy,” she slurred. She slowly blinked her red-rimmed eyes. “I knew you were too good to be t-t-true.” She fell back against the door. “Shit. I think I drank too much.”

  “Here, let’s get you into the living room.”

  “I have no sofa,” she said, but she didn’t stop him from draping her arm around his shoulders and guiding her into the small room. He gently lowered her into her one living room chair. He strode into the kitchen and came back with a kitchen chair. Sitting across from her, not touching her, he asked, “What prompted this reaction? I’ve never seen you this hammered.”

  “I…I didn’t mean to. I only wanted time to…to…” She struggled to speak before shaking her head side to side in an exaggerated manner, unable to think of anything useful to say. “Tell me about San Francisco.”

  “How much did you have to drink?”

  She held her thumb and forefinger in front of her face. “This much.” Her fingers spread wider. “Or maybe this much. I don’t remember.”

  “In a little over an hour? Shit, Beck. That’s a lot of booze. Where’s the bottle?”

  She pointed to the kitchen, let her head fall back on the chair, and closed her eyes. “I don’t feel so good.”

  Zed got up, disappeared into the kitchen and came out holding the bottle of Jack Daniels. “Was it full when you started?”

  “Mm hmm,” she said, eyes closed.

  “Shit, Beck,” he said again. “You have to give your body time to metabolize alcohol. You were a bartender, for Christ’s sake. Were you trying to kill yourself?”

  “Nope. T-t-trying not to feel.”

  “Mission accomplished. Let’s see if we can get you sobered up, what do you say? Exercise works best. Let’s take the dog for a walk.”

  Sidekick scrambled to his feet, tail wagging.

  “Nuh uh,” Beck said.

  “Uh huh,” Zed said. He pulled her to her feet. “Then we’ll get some coffee into your system. Do you have any? I’ll start a pot.”

  She waved her hand breezily. “In there,” she said, indicating the kitchen.

  “Stay,” Zed said.

  She fell back into the chair, her limbs as heavy as weighted bags of clay.

  “Okay, stay there, then.” Zed disappeared, rustling around in the kitchen while she hung her head along the back of the chair.

  The room began to spin. “Wow,” she mumbled. “Too much.” She heard his footfalls heading in her direction.

  “Let’s go, Beck honey,” Zed said.

  “You go,” she said waving him away, eyes shut tightly.

  “Up and at ‘em,” he said.

  “No.”

  “Come on, Beck. Let’s get you sobered up. Then if you want to break up with me, go right ahead.”

  Her eyes popped open. “What did you say?”

  “I said, let’s get you sobered up. Then if you want to break up with me, be my guest. I don’t want your stupidity on my conscience if you do, though. I owe you that much.”

  She placed her hands on the arms of the chair and heaved herself to standing. “You owe me a lot more than that, buddy boy.” She jabbed his chest with her finger. “A lot more.” Shit. Did I just spit on him?

  “Stop it, Beck. You’re drunk. That hurts.” He clamped his fingers around hers and removed it from his chest. “Let’s go.” He handed her a water bottle, led her from the living room, Sidekick trotting happily by his side.

  “Get over here, Sidekick. Get on my side.” She tried to snap her fingers but ended up feeling like a loaded, slovenly Flamenco dancer. “Sidekick, come,” she said. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Zed roll his eyes, a disgusted look if ever she saw one accompanying the eye roll. “What?” she asked, itching for a fight. She could deal with fights and arguing. Zed’s reasonableness made her jumpy.

  “Nothing. Just walk,” he said. “And drink the water. We need to get you rehydrated.” He grabbed her hand and marched her along the sidewalk.

  Sideki
ck seemed to think this a terrific idea, walking with her and Zed. She fumed at him, still trotting nicely next to Zed. She stomped next to Zed, in full bitchy brat mode while Zed simmered in silence. After thirty minutes her head began to clear somewhat. “Okay, tell me about San Francisco.”

  “Nope.”

  “What do you mean, nope?”

  “Just that, sweetheart. Nope.”

  “That’s not fair.”

  “What’s not fair is you listening to my brother and coming to a conclusion about me without giving me a chance to explain. You decided to simply cut and run. You decided ‘enough is enough, I’m outta here.’ Nice, Beck, really nice. You said I’m too good to be true. I’m starting to think the same thing. Maybe you’re too good to be true. Maybe I wanted to be in love so I fooled myself into thinking I loved you.” His face seemed grim, stern, walking like a man walking to his own execution.

  “So you don’t really love me?” She seemed aghast.

  “Not sure. Whatever I’m feeling right now, it sucks. I don’t like to feel this way.”

  He took a few more steps in silence. “How’s brother dear?”

  “He seems as psychotic as you said.” A jolt of alcohol hit her system, like an incoming tide. “Whoa,” she said, grabbing Zed’s arm.

  He guided her, stoic, pissed, unspeaking.

  “But what about San Francisco? And did you really share girls?”

  “I’m not going to discuss it while you’re inebriated.”

  “So that’s a yes.”

  “I’m not going to discuss it while you’re inebriated,” he repeated.

  “Fucker,” she muttered under her breath.

  “What did you say?”

  “You heard me.”

  Instead of taking the bait, he made that disgusted head shake again and kept her stepping.

  Sidekick’s tongue lolled out of his mouth. He kept up with his happy tail wagging jaunt next to Zed.

  “Why aren’t you arguing with me? What’s the matter with you?”

  “I don’t feel like arguing with a drunk tonight. You’re an ugly drunk. A mean drunk. Not particularly pleasant.”

  “Well, you’re a…a…you’re…” She couldn’t remember what he was like when drunk. Probably funny. Or kind. She blinked and frowned. She’d never been with a man like Zed. She could always goad a man into a fight with her. “Well, aren’t you special?”